


She'll Eat You Alive

by Luthor



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8979730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthor/pseuds/Luthor
Summary: Widowtracer Vampire/Hunter AU: 
"You can’t let me go.” Her voice moves as she speaks, and Lena tries and fails to track it, until it’s somewhere behind her, and then in front, and the darkness is beginning to make her dizzy. “You’re obsessed, Lena. You want me too badly.”
Now with Janedre's art!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted on tumblr by Vhetra because I really needed a kick up the arse to write this - thanks, mate. 
> 
> Inspired by literally every cinematic vampire club scene, I swear to god this is so cliche but I live for it...
> 
> Art by the wonderful [Janedre](https://janedesarts.tumblr.com/post/154898485747/vampire-hunterlena-for-t-vos-merry-christmas), posted with her permission. <3

Undefined, but for the sharp silhouette of her profile above the trenchcoat’s upturned collar, Amélie Lacroix could be a part of the coagulating shadows cast against an anonymous London brick wall.

She is as still as them, as quiet; as unremarkable as any other pedestrian who passes by in the light rain, barely aware of her presence.

And yet, not entirely incognito, if the keen tension in her shoulders is anything to go by.

(She’s been living on instinct for too long to ignore it now.)

Stepping forward, she breaks her inertia and reveals herself with trenchcoated, street-lighted precision. She moves with an unnatural grace that draws the attention of those in the street, for just a second, none of them potently aware of their reason for turning in her direction, for just long enough for the pull of the thrall to ache in her gums, before she releases them again. It’s not for their benefit, not even her own – but the gaze following her, from some such similar shadow that Amélie had drawn herself into only moments before.

She pauses at a curb, straightens her collar, exposes the two pin-prick scars for half of a second – stretches, as though the chase to this indistinct, crowded street had inconvenienced her.

To her right, a heavy-booted footstep lands in a puddle. Amélie cranes her neck ever so slightly, confirms that she’s taunted her pursuer into full attention (she demands nothing less), and then returns. She could take a left, here. Draw the woman out with her – an alley, a car park. It’s dark enough – late enough – that they could almost just turn a street and get on with it.

She likely would, too, if it were anyone else pursuing her.

 

Lena hesitates on the opposite side of the road as she watches her cross.

She cranes her neck to get a better view of the building that her target has lured her towards – an old theatre house, the traditional kind with balconies and the paintings, she imagines, although it’s since been repurposed into a nightclub. The music can be heard from this side of the street, a heavy bass that competes with her heartbeat.

She’ll lose her mark on the inside, if she’s not quick enough, and yet there’s a warning in her gut that she hasn’t yet deciphered.

It’s only when crossing, slipping past the body guard who leers as she pays her entrance fee, that she realises it’s a quarter-to-midnight on a Saturday, and she can’t remember the last time she didn’t have to fight a queue to get into a club this side of the city centre. Her stomach knots, she fingers her bag straps, shifting the weight of her crossbow from one shoulder to the other.

Inside, it’s dark, loud, and filling with the cloying sweetness of dry ice.

 

Across the room, Satya pauses Amélie with a hand to her shoulder as she passes. “You’ve paid this month’s rent,” she says, her tone detached as she watches the hunter struggle through the crowd, the determination on her face growing as she slips past each writhing body. Amélie doesn’t argue; they both know she doesn’t pay ahead – neither, Satya remembers, is she particularly good at sharing her toys.

“I don’t have to remind you of the risks bringing one of them here exposes us to.”

“Will you, anyway?” Amélie scoffs before she’s given much more than an arched eyebrow in reply. “Look at her,” she urges, and the pair of them turn, finding the hunter like she’s the only person left in the room. “She’s young.”

“She’s armed.”

“You have no idea,” Amélie smirks, but she reins her excitement in and faces Satya again. “She’s mine, I’ll take care of her.”

Satya holds her gaze for a moment longer, and then makes a dismissive noise that Amélie takes as approval. “Take care, Amélie. Remember where you are.” It’s all the warning she gives, and while said in as light a tone as Satya can get away with over the sound of the music, a warning it is – and one that Amélie heeds.

That same unnatural saunter carries Satya towards the DJ’s podium. She meets Amélie’s gaze as she blindly takes the headphones from the woman there – Amélie nods her respect, as though she’s been given a direct order, and she’s wise to understand as much. Pleased, Satya brings a sharpened nail to the sound system, and dismisses the conversation as easily as she blends the chaotic beat of the current track into something slow and cloying and— _heady_.

 

Lena feels light-headed by the time she breaks through the crowd.

It’s a combination of things, she argues with herself; the dry ice, the atmosphere, the music. She can almost taste the alcohol on every inhalation, and yet she hasn’t touched a drop all night. Couldn’t afford to, with this mark. She’s the kind of elusive that’s driven Lena to obsession, and she’s only one step above outright denying that to herself. She fingers her bag’s straps again, pressing the crossbow further into her ribcage as she passes a gyrating couple, only momentarily distracted by the display of roaming arms and lips and hips.

She should have lost her target, by now, and yet the crowd deposits Lena in clear sight of the woman.

She’s lost the trenchcoat, at least, and is easier to see. Angular, her pale skin more of an unnatural blue in the din of the club’s low lighting. She meets Lena’s eyes as though in taunting, her body moving almost languidly as she pushes herself back from against a wall, and slips down a corridor that is unmarked, but for the neon TOILETS sign on the wall.

Stranger still, about this club, is that the toilets are quiet when Lena enters – unmistakably empty.

They’re brighter, if barely, than the previous room, and Lena drops her bag and feels for the crossbow inside. The corridor hadn’t led anywhere else, that she had seen; her target’s inside, Lena’s found her, cornered her. The rest should be easy. Except, when faced with her, in black boots and leather-clad (because, _of course_ ), there’s not an ounce of tension in the vampire’s body. Not a swell of unease, but for the growing knot in Lena’s stomach that tells her she’s _still_ missing something, and damnit if she knows what.

“You’ve not exactly made this a dream,” Lena tells her, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls. “What’s the secret, then? You gunna try and jimmy through a window while I take a leak?” She takes the safety off her crossbow as she says it, the resulting _click_ deafening in the near-silence, with narrowed amber eyes taking in every twitch of her fingers. “No, I didn’t think so. How come you’re suddenly making this so easy for me, then?”

Amélie’s expression bridges on amused.

“Easy?” she asks, smiling with her eyes. “Don’t tell me this is your first time—no?”

“You’re cornered, there’s nowhere for you to run, now.”

“No,” Amélie agrees, “I don’t want to run. I went to _so much_ trouble to bring you here. So – what do you think?”

“Of the décor, or the music? It’s all a little behind my times, either way.” She shoulders her crossbow, aimed, eyes squinted. “That’s kind of the problem with you lot, though, ain’t it?” She gives her crossbow a theatrical roll. “Bloodsucking is _so_ last century, and all that.”

“Oh, you’re amusing,” and a real smile, now, or something made to fit. “I hadn’t expected that.” Lena scoffs, and she holds a hand up, mid-apology. “I’m pleased. These things rarely go quite so well. For you, of course; I always manage to find _something_ entertaining about it. It gets old, you can imagine, if you don’t.”

“I bet,” Lena agrees. “We gonna do this, then, or’ve you got more to say?”

Amélie releases a tickle of laughter – too bright for what she is, a disguise, but Lena’s well familiar with it, by now.

“More? Yes, always, but I’ve been very patient with you already, _Lena_ , I don’t think I want to wait any longer.” Using the moment of distraction (the look of dumbfounded confusion on the hunter’s face is almost _too sweet_ not to savour), she launches herself forward. In the confusion, it’s easy to manipulate Lena’s body until she is behind her, one hand restraining her arm, the other tight around Lena’s on the handle of the crossbow. “Come closer,” she smirks, her breath against Lena’s ear. “Let us have a _tête-à-tête_.”

It’s the shiver of her teeth against Lena’s ear that does it – spikes a reaction so arousing in Lena that Amélie almost forgets to aim the crossbow for the ceiling light. Lena’s finger compresses on the trigger with a shiver of fear, and before she can do more than elbow Amélie off her, the bathroom is plunged into near-total darkness. The presence behind her disappears as Lena shields herself from the shower of glass shards, shaking the resulting debris loose from her hair.

She doesn’t allow herself another distraction, but instinctively readies the automatic crossbow, aims again.

Realises, with mounting frustration, that even with her improved night vision, her mark is no longer in sight.

“Still too easy for you?” a voice from a far corner asks her, and Lena holds her crossbow steady as she begins a slow stalk forward, checking every toilet stall as she passes. The way Amélie’s voice echoes off every wall, almost indiscernible, does nothing to help. “I could make this harder, still, if it would feel more rewarding for you that way.”

“Cheers, love,” Lena huffs, toeing at another stall door – this one as empty as the others. “But I’m not the one with the ego here.”

“Oh,” Amélie says, as though she’s considering that, and also thoroughly amused by it. “You did hunt me all the way out here, against your better judgement, yes—? I bet you wouldn’t let yourself simply walk out of here, you can’t let me go.” Her voice moves as she speaks, and Lena tries and fails to track it, until it’s somewhere behind her, and then in front, and the darkness is beginning to make her dizzy. “You’re _obsessed_ , Lena. You want me too badly.”

“Don’t flatter yourself…”

“No, _you_ flatter me,” Amélie laughs, and she is close, Lena knows, if just not where exactly. “Tell me, does anyone know you’ve come all this way? You’re pack hunters, the last I heard, and yet here you are… all alone.”

“You’re too dangerous to let go.”

“Just me?” She sounds impressed, almost, mocking. “No, I’m barely a threat, in comparison…”

“Barely a threat,” Lena huffs beneath her breath, eyes narrowing as she kicks open a stall door with more force than necessary. “You’re a monster.”

“Why – because I’m not human?”

There’s a whisper of air against her neck, as though someone had just stepped past her. Lena swivels quickly, but the bathroom looks frustratingly empty, still. She moves on.

“Because you eat humans. That’s top of the list of symptoms, didn’t you know?”

The bathroom falls silent for a moment, and then follows a short sigh, the tail end of which Lena swears she feels against one ear, even if there’s no one there when she turns around. “This is growing tiresome,” Amélie announces, and Lena presses the toe of her boot to the final stall door.

“I hate to disappoint,” she drawls, pushing it open, and is so unprepared for the stall actually being occupied that she almost drops her crossbow where she stands.

As it is, Amélie doesn’t give her the chance.

Lena is yanked forward with a yelp, her back pushed roughly against one of the stall’s walls as the door clatters to a close on them. She raises the crossbow instinctively, the tip of an arrow pressed in direct sight towards Amélie’s chest, but Amélie’s looming face gives her pause. She has a hand wrapped tight yet bearable around Lena’s throat, and her expression looks more inquisitive than menacing. She shouldn’t hesitate – could be done with all of this right now, and yet…

“That is peculiar,” Amélie murmurs, and Lena feels her body flush. She’s not exactly being gentle in how she presses her up against the wall, each leathery curve of her holding Lena’s body in place. Her free hand pushes at the underside of the crossbow, not enough to move it, but so that she might displace the shot before Lena fires. “I thought perhaps you wanted more than to hunt me – it is a relief to know I was right.”

She is smirking as she says it, and it isn’t at all a relief, to either of them, but Lena doesn’t bother to argue.

“You’re a curious one, Lena,” Amélie says, appraising her, amber eyes lingering briefly on the visible pulse point in her throat. “I have been curious, too.”

Slowly, she leaves behind the crossbow in favour of sliding her hand along Lena’s front. They’re locked together, which means there’s some slight shifting as she draws her touch down, down, her nails against Lena’s chest and stomach, the waistband of her jeans. She pops the button open without hesitation, and Lena broadens her stance, giving her room. She’s expecting her skin to be colder, when it meets her own – icy, uncomfortable. Instead, she leans into it, presses against fingers that find the waistband of her underwear, and then slip neatly beneath it.

There’s little preamble; Lena’s already wet.

Amélie watches her as she enters her – first one finger, and then two. She had been curious, had done her research on the woman who had shadowed her for the better part of the last few months, each meeting with her coming daringly close to what they’re doing now, but never quite. Amélie hadn’t felt _so_ curious as to release control like this, but Lena is on her side of the playing field, and they are adhering by her rules, now.

(If nothing else, should Lena rip the undeath from her unbeating heart tonight, she would not make it past the bathroom door without a crowd of teeth in her throat.

Small mercies, she supposes.)

Lena struggles with the grip on her crossbow.

Her palms are sweating, her grip loosening – she shoves the end of it further into Amélie’s chest, more for balance than any real threat, and chokes around a moan as Amélie’s hand in her pants _twists_ and _presses_ until her knees shake. Despite what Amélie is likely thinking, this isn’t exactly what she had planned. Oh, she’d been curious – has always been, maddeningly so, for the rest of her family, _dangerously_ so quite clearly, and yet—

She could pull the trigger now, but she won’t, and Amélie knows she won’t, and that’s almost as arousing as it is irritating.

Amélie watches her intently through the entire ordeal, waiting.

And finally, when Lena struggles to hold back each painstaking whimper, when she _flutters_ and _tenses_ around her fingers, Amélie nuzzles that pounding little vein against her throat, and _bites_.

The shock of it causes two awful, involuntary reactions from Lena. First, and just barely, her body convulses around an orgasm – euphoria flushes her veins, turns her cheeks and chest a tender pink, and presses her further, further into Amélie’s body as she spasms. Secondly, and _just barely_ , the shock of pain at having two enlarged incisors piercing her throat has her hand closing instinctively into a fist – a fist made around the trigger of the crossbow.

The climax had thrown Lena’s aim off, but the arrow still tears through a shoulder – breaks cartilage, if not bone.

Amélie releases a scream, her teeth still submerged in Lena’s throat, blood escaping, now. She tears herself away too quickly, rips more skin than she’d ever meant to, sends a gush over her own face and down her throat. Lena’s sure she’ll never forget the noise – the way a vampire sounds as they’re impaled mid-bite, the noise muffled by her own blood-slick throat.

For a moment, quiet. Lena holds her breath.

Gently, almost, Amélie extracts her fingers. She is panting. Her hand shakes as she wraps it around the bolt, leans back, staggers into the opposite wall as she tears it out of her own shoulder. Howls, as her skin rips and repairs itself, drops the bolt with heaving breaths.

Lena’s no longer quite so curious, now. Afraid, perhaps. A little nervous.

She allows herself one glance at Amélie’s face, the growing ferocity, the promise of a slow execution, and _runs_.

She makes it out of the toilet stall, reloads the crossbow. She’s dizzy and wheezing with the blood flow, too much of it coming out, too quickly. She’s already lost enough to make her eyelids heavy and her stomach sick. She tries to reach the bathroom door, and already knows that she won’t.

A hand clamps down around the back of her neck, drags her around; she spins like all the earth has slipped on its axis.

She sees Amélie’s mouth incoming, aimed at her throat, lifts the crossbow again.

And pulls the trigger before she feels the bite.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title Credit: Puscifer - Rev 22:20


End file.
